


Study in Knives

by laurel_crown



Category: Demon's Lexicon - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurel_crown/pseuds/laurel_crown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Jamie think about their changed world while infiltrating the Aventurine Circle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Study in Knives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khantael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khantael/gifts).



Nick decides, as they walk through the corridors together, that he does not like Jamie having silver eyes. Sure, before he gave him the mark, the only thing he noticed about them was how pathetic he could make those big brown orbs look.

But he was always able to tell when Jamie was scared about something – which, inexplicably, seemed to be most of the time. Now, however, they are just blank silver mirrors that reflect the Aventurine Circle’s sullen glances – they’re late – without appearing to notice them at all. Perhaps this is meant to be a good thing. Nick doesn’t care.

He stands behind Jamie’s chair, fingers still itching for a knife – it makes him uncomfortable being around all these magicians so often. Instincts left over from his childhood, he supposes, which seems stupid now he can remember thousands of years as Hnikarr before that.

Nick knows it has something to do with infiltration, that he has to obey everything Jamie tells him to do, even though the kid has some pathological inability to handle a knife properly. Really, it’s good he has Nick’s magic, so now he isn’t helpless anymore.

A magician says something to Jamie – Nick isn’t listening, they’re not important – and Jamie nods.

“Sit down,” he orders, not bothering to look back. “It’s not that formal.”

Nick obeys, suppressing the urge to jerk away when Jamie directs his folding legs with a finger on his shoulder. He can feel his nerves stretching, vibrating; the whole situation rubs him the wrong way. The only thing stopping him from ripping all the magicians’ throats out – starting with Gerald – is that this is part of Alan’s plan.

So if Alan wants him to be Jamie’s pet demon, he will; even though his brother does far too many stupid things, like taking the mark off some Goblin Market child so he would bear the brunt of the Aventurine Circle’s meddling instead. It seemed to make Sin happy, at least, but the rest of the Market still treats Alan like scum. He’d like to rip their throats out, too, if he catches them at it.

Ah, thinking about all this makes his head hurt. It’s too complicated; he feels like he’s trying to learn language all over again, or trying to understand one of Mae’s explanations of human feelings and relationships. So many subtle signals he is missing, and doesn’t care enough to give once he does understand. He will just leave it all to Alan, and wait for the command to strike.

~

Nick lies sprawled at his feet like some dreadful black spider, limbs spread and loose yet still ready for action. Hostility rolls off him in waves, and Jamie knows he will be wearing his usual bone-chillingly cold expression.

Jamie watches as he looks at each magician in turn, unblinking, until they shift under his black demon stare. Celeste only tucks her pale hair behind her ear, but he seems content with that. She raises an eyebrow at Jamie, disapproving, but he merely tilts his head to the side to say, _what?_ And she moves the meeting along.

Nick is almost impossible to read at the best of times, but Jamie thinks he understands how he finds this game amusing; how satisfying it is making the people who hunted him for so long squirm beneath his gaze.

Actually, it isn’t that long at all for a demon, is it? Jamie sighs inwardly, trying to keep his expression attentive. He will never understand what goes on behind that blank, stony face. Other than that Nick is irritated when Gerald doesn’t join in the game: he seems entirely unconcerned, and Jamie can see the tension in Nick’s shoulder blades, sliding beneath his t-shirt.

But he doesn’t want to think about what is going on between Nick and Gerald; he doesn’t want to think about what Gerald is doing to Alan. It makes him feel sad and uncomfortable, like he always does when he remembers all the evil magic can be used for. _Is_ used for. Like killing-

 _No._ Jamie touches his earring, digging the metal into his fingers so no tears will come into his eyes. Maybe they won’t notice, anyway; he isn’t sure. He doesn’t like to look in the mirror.

He wishes everyone would just use magic for the beautiful thing he knows it can be. Mum knew that, when she saved him from Gerald. _Ha._ Jamie blinks his eyes languidly, the corner of his mouth twitching in self-loathing. And this is the thanks he’s giving her.

“Jamie?”

His head jerks up, eyes rising off the floor to meet Gerald’s. He is wearing that kind look that still brings dull pangs to his stupid, trusting heart. Never mind that he used magic against Jamie; his eyes are so gentle, so _blue …_

Like Alan’s. Jamie pushes the remnants of the crush away, not for the first time, and tries to focus.

Gerald has a smile on his face like he knows exactly what Jamie is doing. “Do you have anything to add?”

Jamie shakes his head, taking refuge in sulky silence. Perhaps Nick is rubbing off on him. A moment passes, then talk resumes, attention shifts, and he can breathe again.

He didn’t take Gerald’s mark when he joined, or the Aventurine mark; he is, technically, free. The only reason the magicians let him stay is because he smells of power, and greed warred with wariness until the pull of a new asset won.

So why does he feel so trapped? It gets worse each time he shoves Nick around like a slave. His friend, and he treats him like dirt because the Circle expects it.

Jamie breathes slowly, trying to calm his thoughts before they go somewhere dangerous. He is here so he can give Mae and Alan information about Celeste’s plans – the magicians are so powerful, they tried to fight them before and lost. Any advantage he can give them will help.

And, in the impossible event that _they_ win the next fight, he wants to give the magicians a way out. A way to live like proper human beings, not murderers.

At least he isn’t killing people, giving demons permission to stalk through their nightmares like he was once haunted. But all the other magicians are. It makes Jamie sick to watch it, sick to think of how Seb and so many others were lured into it …

And then all that is swept aside when Nick’s magic courses through him and it feels like he’s on fire with ecstasy. Then the initial rush fades, the power still there but dormant, and the guilt strikes him like hot knives digging into his flesh.

He is going to drive himself crazy unless he _does_ something. The meeting looks like it’s going to last a while. He can tell Seb is already bored; he keeps glancing at Jamie, then at Nick, then away. Jamie dismisses it. He isn’t even going to try to understand what is going on with Seb these days.

He digs out the magical knife and tosses it gently from palm to palm, seeing if he can enjoy the way it slices through the air, ice-cold as its giver. Nick does; his shoulders lose their tautness, and he looks sideways just enough so Jamie can see the curl of his mouth.

Jamie still doesn’t like it – he prefers his pretty things to be less … _sharp_. But the motion keeps his feelings at bay; it even brings a smile to his lips when he remembers the first time Nick handed him a knife.

~

“Do we _really_ have to play around with pointy things right now?” Jamie pleaded. “I could read you some more Pride and Prejudice!”

Nick just looked at him with that serial-killer stare. “We did homework at lunch. Now we do knife practice.” He produced a dagger from somewhere in his clothing (just how many did he _have_ , anyway?) and gave it to Jamie.

“Uh, thanks.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, obviously waiting for Jamie to explain his weird human behaviour.

“I like it when you hand it to me, rather than throw it at me,” said Jamie. “Gives a guy a sense of security, you know?”

Nick rolled his black demon eyes. “You did get pointlessly upset about that,” he drawled. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Then I wasn’t throwing it _at_ you. Now.”

Jamie waited for further instructions, but Nick just turned and faced the scarred tree in front of them without another word. Jamie looked at it too. It seemed awfully far away. Time to stall. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, giving me sharp objects. You haven’t seen what I do to kitchens.”

“Please.” Nick’s lip curled. “The point of this is to _make_ you a threat. We wouldn’t be doing it if you already were.”

“That was mean,” Jamie told him. “My feelings are deeply hurt right now.”

“You’ll get over it,” said Nick, and snickered. Or would that be _Hnikarred?_ Jamie grinned, briefly entertained the idea of sharing his wonderful joke, and decided against it. Demons and wordplay did not mix.

Jamie shifted his weight from foot to foot, telling himself he was settling into position. Yeah, right. He was waiting for a miracle to end the let’s practice killing things session, and of course none was forthcoming. Nick was much better at brooding silences than he was – it was his second language, after menacing people. Now, would actual English come before or after glaring?

There was a particularly impatient-sounding grumble of thunder in the distance. Jamie took this as a cue to throw the knife at the tree.

Well, into the bushes. They were in the same garden as the tree, though, so Jamie thought this was a good start. He tried to ignore the way Nick lovingly brushed the dirt off the blade before giving it back to him. He only ever seemed to look at weapons that way.

“You want me to do it again?” Jamie asked, in the hope there might be a _no_ hovering in the vicinity.

Nick gave him his best blank statue look. “Practice,” he said slowly, “means doing it more than once.”

Jamie didn’t want to think about the absurdity of having a demon tell him the meaning of a word. He wanted the knife out of his hands, and the best way to do that was to throw it at-

The flowerbed. Nick paced over to fish it out again while Jamie wailed about being a flower murderer.

“Less talking, more throwing,” Nick ordered, giving Jamie the knife and adjusting his grip on the handle. His calluses brushed against Jamie’s smooth skin, and Jamie suddenly wondered how many blisters he would get out of these self-defence classes. Then Nick stepped aside, and Jamie tried not to move his fingers as he raised his arm, aimed-

~

Jamie returns to the present with a start; Nick’s hand is gripping his wrist, hard, stilling the knife. When Jamie looks down, he sees the shining blade is tilted at the wrong angle, the edge just touching his leg.

“Idiot,” Nick mutters under his breath, releasing him.

Jamie glances around, but no one saw; everyone is looking at Celeste. He tucks the knife away, and turns his attention to her just in time to hear the dismissal. He stands up with everyone else, Nick following a second later to tower beside him. Jamie takes advantage of the chatter to whisper as close to Nick’s ear as he can reach.

“You’ve made me a threat now. Though it might just be to myself.”

Nick grunts, expressionless as always. “More work to do then.”

Jamie bites back his usual response – bemoaning the state of his life in general, friends’ cruelty in particular – and turns to leave before someone notices he is being nice to his demon.

~

Nick isn’t surprised when Jamie clicks his fingers at him; it is a new habit of his. Hnikarr would be angry, another insolent human summoning him, but Nick only feels a flicker of irritation. He’s more concerned with Jamie’s other habit, of putting himself in harm’s way. That one is hardly new.

He considers taking the knife away as he shadows Jamie back to his room. But then Jamie will have an excuse to forget everything Nick showed him, and go back to being helpless again. Nick can’t have that. Mae would kill him – or at least shout at him until his head swims with words, which would be worse.

Jamie tells him to shut the door, and walks over to sit on his bed, one knee tucked under his chin. Nick leans against the door, trying to fathom his expression. Fear? No, that wouldn’t make any sense. Anger? Please.

Nick scowls. Feelings are so _difficult_. He wishes he could cart Mae around with him everywhere, so she would deal with this sort of thing. But then she’d get annoying, a constant prickle like the talisman still around his neck. Yet another useless childhood relic.

Then Jamie takes the knife out again, and Nick knows what to do. He steps forward and snatches the blade out of Jamie’s hands, returning to the door before his mouth is properly open.

“More work,” he repeats, as Jamie sits there doing his best lost puppy impression. “You don’t get it back until I’ve given you another lesson.”

Jamie looks around, face slightly afraid – nervous, that was it. Then he obviously comes to some conclusion, and the ghost of his crooked smile hovers on his lips. “What’s this one called – how not to chop my limbs off?”

Nick pulls his own mouth into a grin, sharp, savouring the anticipation of letting of some steam at last. “How to stop someone else from doing that.”


End file.
